


half awake

by orphan_account



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Teen Angst, idk - Freeform, is this even angst ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Christoffer doesn't know how to keep himself out of trouble, even now.





	

It’s one twenty-eight on a school night when he frantically knocks on her window, pulling her out of the lull of sleep and into the darkness of her bedroom to open the damned lock for him. She doesn’t even have to see him clearly to know why he’s here as he drops into the blackness of the room with a soft _thud_ \- and it’s his odd silence that helps her understand his situation, not to mention the fact that he had done the same just two weeks ago ... and several times before that. Rubbing at heavy eyelids, she sighs, a mix of distress paired with her weariness. She doesn’t think she has the patience for this anymore.

“Missed me?” He speaks into the blackened room with as much arrogance as his pained voice will allow, all in a failed attempt to mask his physical suffering; he struggles to remove his hoodie as the muscles in his back strain with each wrong move. He’s fully aware she sees passed the bravado at this point - perhaps she’s even more jaded now that he’s done this to her for the fourth (or was it fifth?) time this month. It makes him wonder why she still puts up with him, or why he won't just leave her alone.

“Sit.” Her voice is tainted by fatigue but still stern, and because he’s in a world of pain he complies quite easily, aching muscles sinking into her mattress as she turns on the lamp on her bedside table. His untimely banter goes completely ignored as she makes her way back to him, bare feet lightly padding against wooden floorboards now that the room was dimly lit. She no longer bothers to ask him questions such as _who_ or _where_ or _why_ , it didn’t matter to her either way, the story behind his violent tendencies. Instead, she’s focused on aiding him as quickly as possible in hopes of returning to sleep sooner.

Hands reach over to him once she’s seated aside him, not the slightest hesitance. Fingers are gentle as they roam against his handsome features, a quick inspection of the damage inflicted: a busted lip and bleeding nose, dried blood on his torn knuckles, it’s not his _worst_ \- but she’s not considering the bruises scattered across his torso, she’s yet to see them. Even so, she shakes her head in contempt. And he can only watch her the entire time, dark eyes fondly regarding the way her tired gaze carefully examines every inch of his face, the way her forehead creases and plump lips purse in distaste as she scrutinizes each foreign mark, clearly upset. At _him_.

“Grow up Christoffer,” it's uttered under her breath, but with the blatant intent of being heard. He's close enough anyway, let him have another punch to his ego. It couldn’t possibly do anymore damage than what the night had already permitted. He can only smile apologetically - because they both know there was no end to this, whether he genuinely wanted it or not. Her weary hands descend to rest on his chest. “Grow up.”

She leaves him alone in her room only for a moment, in need of the _customary tools_ she'll soon be using. The fluorescent lights of her bathroom feel sharp and invasive against heavy lids, a laboured yawn escaping her as she hurriedly searches for the first-aid kit stashed in one of the wooden cabinets. An unintended glimpse of herself in the mirror and she begins to question if any of this was even real, if all these sporadic night visits from Christoffer were just sweet delusions and wishful dreams, which only urges her to get back to him sooner. She returns to him slightly more awake (and relieved he’s still there), bared legs now lazily splayed on her bed as she digs through the kit for the alcohol wipes - a certain concentration to her expression that wasn’t there prior.

He winces once the wipe comes in contact with his wounds, and she momentarily frowns in return but carries on shortly after. As gentle as she is, it still hurts quite a bit - of course he doesn't blame her, it's his fault. So instead of the ache, he diverts his focus on Eva: the furrowing of her brows and soft breaths that waft against his features as she wipes the blood from his face, the way smaller hands hold his with a certain tenderness as she meticulously wraps his knuckles. And immediately he’s aware of how much more fluid her motions are in comparison to the very first time, as well as the lack of fear or panic that was there once before - it’s heartening, however it mainly floods him with guilt.

It all ends abruptly, his trance dissipating with the halt of her nimble fingers.

“There.” Her voice is hardly a whisper between them, hands pathetically dropping to her lap when she comes to the realization that there isn’t anything else she can do for him. With the blood now gone and wounds sufficiently covered, she’s seemingly useless to him. Emerald eyes meet his and she gives him the faintest of smiles as a hand runs through her disheveled hair - this is the part of the night when he leaves her. That’s how it went each time.

But this time he opts for something unwritten.

Whether it’s the melancholy in her smile, the need for tenderness after such violence, or the delirium that comes with this part of the night, he’s not sure - but he leans in, gently brushing locks of hair away from her sleepy features before his lips move fondly against her’s.

He kisses her with caution, unfamiliarly slow and tender, as if she’s the one hurting and not him. An unspoken _thank you_ \- and _I’m sorry_. And she kisses back, drowsily so, but the meaning is still there - he feels it in the way her mouth caresses his. Soon enough his lips move more fervently against hers, despite the open cut on his now swollen lip and the itching pain that comes with it, he’s missed the sweetness of her mouth and the way her breath mixes with his own - he only halts when he feels her dainty palms gently press against his chest.

“I have to get up for school in a few hours,” she reminds him in mild protest, head dizzy with sleep or perhaps the lingering feeling of his lips on hers. Either way she doesn’t look into his eyes with his face still looming so close, the girl’s never been so flustered, “so you either sleep or you can _leave_.” She tells him, gaze remaining intently focused on the hands folded on her lap while heat rises to her cheeks.

He knows the latter isn’t even an option.

**Author's Note:**

> this one’s just based off a small headcanon, i imagine chris is still involved in fights even after graduating, and he stops by eva’s place each time.


End file.
